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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27726052">Batfamily Prompts</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wiseskylight/pseuds/Wiseskylight'>Wiseskylight</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Multi, will add more characters as I write</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:28:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,141</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27726052</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wiseskylight/pseuds/Wiseskylight</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>As the title says, a place for prompts I write.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Jason Todd - Dreamseeker</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Prompt -</p><p>Before his death, strange visions plagued Jason’s dreams, but the memories were a distant haze when awoken. After his death, the visions consume his nightmares with images of futures that may or may not fall into place. But this time, he remembers them all.</p><hr/><p>Chapter One Opening (minimum 250 words) –</p><p>He does not believe it at first.</p><p>The dreams – not nightmares, never nightmares – of red liquid flowing down his neck. They somehow reminded Jason of the way his mother’s tears would fall as she began grieving in that fateful warehouse. Grieving not for him or the act of betrayal from the green-haired bastard. No, she mourned herself and the life she would lose if the bomb went off. He still remembers her shaky voice whispering <em>not me, please. not me</em> under her breath as she helplessly fought against her rope bindings. While each time she looked over at him, she closed her eyes in reaction as if his presence did not exist and she was all alone in the world. As if she were the only one who would die that night.</p><p>Jason will never admit how that hurt, or how he tried to save her despite it.</p><p>Yet here he is.</p><p>On the floor with his neck sliced open like an animal being drained at a slaughterhouse. The offending weapon, the batarang, at the corner of his sight, faintly reflecting the lamp lights outside the small window. The maniacal laugh to his left that mocks him does nothing to help the infernal fire that claws in his gut and threatens to spill from his tongue. He wishes to scream at the pale-faced fucker but also aim his fire at the one who caused his newfound pain. The man whose shadow is meant to protect the innocent. Protect who he considers family.</p><p>It was meant to be a dream.</p><p>The blood. The wound on his neck.</p><p>It was never meant to be Bruce swinging the weapon Jason hoped to inherit.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Stephanie Brown - Hidden Clues</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Prompt - </p><p>Obsessions with secrets run in the family. So, when her father gets involved with something out of his depth, Steph takes a step into a mystery that may be the one to break her.</p>
<hr/><p>Chapter One Opening (minimum 250 words) –</p><p>Steph was five years old when she realised secrets are everywhere.</p><p>Her small, stubby fingers trying to smooth out a sheet of paper as this new understanding trickles into her mind, similar to how the rain outside did its best to find cracks in walls. <em>The house will protect us</em>, her mother would always say. Her warm eyes doing nothing to hide the darkening skin beneath them, or the slight downward curve of her lips as she spoke. <em>So will the windows, doors, and roof.</em> But protect them against who? Steph once asked in reply. After all, water cannot hurt them, and the house could only hide them. That was when the warmth began to fade, like her favourite starry night light when the e-lec-tri-city – a word that rolled out of her own lips with difficultly – turned off. A regular occurrence.</p><p>Steph made sure not to ask again.</p><p>But she could not help the giggle that forced its way out of her chest. She found another clue. The ones her father would leave around the house when he disappeared for a while. This one was hidden behind a picture frame with no photo within. She did not think much of that. Only the clue in her hand. The <em>final </em>clue.</p><p>She peered down at it.</p><p><em>The last one</em>, it began. <em>Reward: multiple hugs and kisses. Riddle #53 – what has hands and a face, but can’t hold anything or smile?</em></p><p>Steph furrowed her brows in thought.</p><p>The answers to these riddles usually mean an object within the house and there is not many here. Her mother explaining that they must take a few possessions – a word she learnt as they moved out of her old house. The bigger one. The one with the large <em>clock</em> in the main room.</p><p>Steph rushed out of her parent’s room and down the dark corridor. She could hear her mother’s voice growing louder. There she stopped, right outside the closed door. Arms dropping as a strange feeling slid under her skin.</p><p>“You lied!” her mother said in a broken tone, like the way Steph’s dolls voices go when they run out of battery.   </p><p>Her mother is on the phone. No other voices made that clear.</p><p>“How long are you going to be away this time, huh?” she continued. “Months? Years? And what do I tell Steph? That your job hunting? <em>Ha</em>. That would be a nice change. No, I’m not going to tell her you’re in prison. That’s our secret. That’s—”</p><p>Yes, Steph was five years old when she realised secrets are everywhere.</p><p>She was also five when she learnt secrets can hurt.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Tim Drake - Speak with Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Prompt -</p><p>Being born in Gotham’s high society means numerous things – rich contacts, an ignorant life, and people who wish to break you with whispered slander. Although, no words are more powerful than Tim’s. Not when they can come true under certain conditions.</p><hr/><p>Chapter One Opening (minimum 250 words) –</p><p><em>Hold your head up</em>.</p><p>His father’s soft words dominate all thoughts in a tone clearer than the day he left Tim behind. That should have been the first red flag. Nothing good happens on cloudy days where the sun shields itself from the horrors of Gotham City. Although, every time the ball of fire peeks through the thick mist like an eye of a curious child, watching something they know not to, simple thugs to more vicious criminals come out of their dark holes in earnest. Plant seeds. They remind Tim of plant seeds breaking from soil to reach the light that feeds them.</p><p>Yet, his father’s words remain clearer than all of them.</p><p>It is as if the man’s spirit is standing beside him, whispering comforts of all sorts into his ears.</p><p><em>Hold your head up high</em>, his father would say, one hand gripping his shoulder as nerves overtake him.</p><p>Growing up, Tim never really did well in the spotlight. The many lifeless gazes at prestigious events watching him like vultures that diet on mistakes and regurgitate false rumours to their young. It made his bones stiff with the need to stand still until they find new prey to latch their claws on. That’s when his father would come in. Always telling him to be proud of the weight his name carried. How Tim would do it justice as he was better, brighter than them.</p><p>Tim should smile every time he thinks of his father’s sweet words, but he does not.</p><p>Because, right now, Tim is placing a hand on someone else’s shoulder.</p><p>Right now, he is telling them to give up their power in Gotham.</p><p>A power he learnt through touch.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! I thought about creating a batfamily prompt series where I would write an opening for the ideas in my head. Feel free to give me your thoughts.</p><p>Also, if anyone would like to use the prompt or opening, feel free to do so. Just write a comment or message me on tumblr (wiseskylightfanfics) as I would love to read it if you complete it.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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